Contract
by LilliaJohnson
Summary: Jaq Rand, post Jedi-Killer ways, is called in to settle a decades old dispute the only way he knows how. Crossover with- well, it's a suprise...


The rain was starting to die down somewhat, and the droplets were running thick and fast off of his beloved jacket, soaking his trousers and filling his boots with enough liquid to cause a thin spray that erupted out of them with every step.

He normally didn't get called in to... 'settle' personal vendettas, and he sure as hell never met his clientele in person if he could avoid it, but there was a large sum of credits and a very angry hutt who wanted Jaq's head on a pike that was motivation enough for the Sith turned contract killer to crack out his knife collection to satisfy some rich bastards quest for vengeance.

The crunching of twigs and the solid thump of the ground becoming hard and dusty signalled he'd finally found the path he was looking for in the dark, and indeed, he saw his destination nestled between massive leaves ahead. The entire area reminded him of Kashyyyk, only far greener and with a pleasant, lingering tropical scent rather than one of rotting animal carcasses.

He shook his head as he ascended into what promised to be a warm, dry front room, and attempted to straighten and neaten his hair. Good first impressions, Jaqi boy... and if he was lucky, and completed his little endeavor in a way that satisfied his new employer, well, who knew? It could be the start of a nice little arrangement.

The stench that hit him, however, upon entering, nearly left him so dizzy he considered dropping everything and heading back to the Shad.

The thick odor of fermenting, rotting fruit penetrated Jaq from the inside out and nearly made him vomit right there. The harsh memory of his first hangover was brought to the surface as he tried desperately to adjust to the sickly smell. Barrel after barrel was stacked around the room in wooden towers, filled with Force only knows what. Fruit skins were everywhere, in piles, in rows, scattered over the rug...

His legs, thankfully, had responded to the disgust brimming in his brain enough for him to make them move, and he rushed through the minefield and into the next room, where, and he praised whatever deity was listening for this tender mercy, the stench lessened dramatically. He'd entered some kind of hall, which lead to a tiny room where hushed voices could be heard despite the racket made by the rain.

Almost as if they could hear his feather-light footsteps, the door swung open to admit him.

Two men, one small and weedy, the other hulking and alien, covered in hair like a Wookie, only shorter and with a face that actually included features. They had been deep in conversation until Jaq had strolled in, all confident grace and hands-in-pockets attitude.

"I thought I'd only be dealing with you." He said to the smaller of the two.

The short man threw his head back and laughed, a chuckle with zero humour and life to it. "Yes, well, my friend here and I have reached a... mutual understanding based on a shared obsession, my dear Jaq." He fiddled with his curled mustache as he said this.

Jaq had never seen someone so oddly cartoon-ish in his entire life.

The man stood at less than five feet, but whippet thin and long legged. Dark blue overalls covered a vivid purple shirt, a purple that matched his bizarre hat. White gloves and pointed shoes completed the insane outfit, and pointed ears and a beaky nose enhanced the image of some sort of demented, warped gnome. It should have given him an air of evil, and indeed, if he had that aura at all, his appearance wouldn't have seemed so much ridiculous as intimidating. But it simply didn't work, and Jaq had to use all his willpower not to let his jaw drop open and guffaws to escape.

The man tossed a small scroll in Jaq's direction, and he caught it easily, unfurling the parchment and studying the image carefully. Real paper. These guys really were loaded with the dough.

Short, portly. Red hat, red pants, white shirt, while gloves. And he rocked a mustache like no-one Jaq had ever seen.

"What's his name?" Rand asked as he stowed the picture away carefully.

Waluigi took of his hat and hung in on a golden banana next to Donkey Kong. All it succeeded to do was make him look more ludicrous.

"Mario."


End file.
